


Be Blessed and Be Cursed for Sure

by Stone_Princess



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adult Content, Angst, Demons, First Time, Hallucinations, M/M, Psychotropic Drugs, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-18
Updated: 2011-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-27 12:24:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/295835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stone_Princess/pseuds/Stone_Princess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One wrong move and everything changes whether you want it to or not.  Demon blood can really mess with your head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be Blessed and Be Cursed for Sure

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to LJ in April 2006  
> For Joyfulgirl41 on the occasion of her birthday. Yeah, my girl, I love you, even if I bring you the angst instead of the funny to celebrate you. Thanks to Unholyglee for helping me hammer this out, and Fryadvocate for going way above and beyond the call of duty with my neediness and helping pin the end together and for betaing so beautifully at the last minute. Much love to both of them. Remaining mistakes are my own.

* * *

  
Pierce it through the heart. That was all Dean had to do. Standing by the doorway, he was behind it when it came charging out of the tomb. Straight through the back, at an angle next to the spine and it would be down. No problem.

But Dean thrust and the knife skittered across the hard plates of the demon's back, bouncing and turning, cutting across his forearm. Dean fell back against a tombstone, dropping the knife and closing his hand over the sharp bite of the fresh wound. There should have been give, skin, not some tough, nail-hard plate.

"Sam!" Dean called, protecting Sam the only way he could from a prone position, giving Sam the advantage.

But Sam was already there, a blade in each hand, slashing across the thing's throat and puncturing into its ribcage as Dean watched. The demon tumbled and fell toward Dean, splattering greenish blood all over him. The air was thick with ozone and Dean couldn't tell if it was some unnatural result of demon killing or a coming storm.

"Okay?" Sam asked as Dean rolled away from the body that was already crumpling and falling into itself.

"Yeah." Dean picked himself up and took off his shirt, using it to wipe off the worst of the quickly drying blood as the first drops of rain fell in the cemetery. The cut on his arm felt as if it'd been salted, Dean ran the shirt roughly over it, trying to get all the blood off it. "Damn, that thing's ugly." Dean poked at the corpse, a shapeless mass of chunky ash now, with the toe of his boot. "Stay in Hell this time," he said to it before he turned away to help Sam gathered the weapons and books they'd brought.

They left the demon to the coming rain headed out to where they'd left Impala by the entrance.

Dean grabbed the first aid kit out of the trunk and bandaged his arm—barely more than a scratch—while Sam drove them away from the cemetery, out of town, out of Ohio and on to the next thing. The clouds opened and rain beat on the roof of the Impala washing away any trace of the thing they'd left behind.

"I need a shower, you got that thing's blood all over me."

Sam laughed. "A little more practice and maybe you'll be able to kill one yourself someday, then you can get me back."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

***

Driving was dream-time. It didn't matter to Sam whether he was actively driving or just a passenger. It was time passing where nothing existed but the inside of your head. Like that brief moment between sleeping and waking drawn out over endless roads. Not anywhere but the here that was nowhere.

The world narrowed into the circle of the headlights and the space in Sam's head widened and filled. Sometimes it seemed like nothing could touch them, the things they'd lived through but every job, every fight was the edge of death. Seeing Dean go down like he had tonight, even just a tumble, was a reminder of how close to that edge they always where. After, in these empty wide-open nights, Sam always felt a little sick. He didn't want to be doing this all. As much as he wanted away, wanted normal, and his relationship was with Dean was anything but normal—warriors raised to depend on no one but each other—Sam needed it. If this was going to be who he was, where he was, Sam couldn't do it without Dean.

Dean snored softly beside him pulling his mind back into the car. After a fight like that Dean was usually totally jacked up, reliving every action of the fight, what they'd done wrong, what could have been better and always something that was _awesome_. Sam thought maybe he should have been grateful for the quiet, but tonight it just drew out the horrors inside his head. He'd driven much farther than he'd intended, passing through half a dozen little towns, waiting for Dean to wake up. Now he was just tired and bored.

"Dean, wake up." Sam elbowed Dean's shoulder.

"What is it?" Dean was instantly awake, at the ready, the perfect soldier.

"Talk to me, keep me awake."

"Dude, you're the sleepless wonder, you don't need me." Sam imagined he could hear Dean rolling his eyes.

"What happened back there?" Sam asked as Dean rubbed hand over his face as if he could just wipe sleep away.

"That thing—what did dad's book call it?" Dean's voice was a little slow, like he hadn't quite been able to shake the drowsiness from it.

"Caacrinolaas."

"Yeah, fuck, it's back wasn't like thick skin at all, it was like fingernails or something. Armor. I lost control of the knife."

"Is your arm okay?"

In the corner of his eye, Sam saw Dean's hand move to cover the bandage, pressing, checking.

"Yeah, it's nothing, I just wanted to get that Cracker-jack-lass thing's blood off of it. Gross ozone smelling shit."

Sam glanced over. The now dried blood was still streaked dark over Dean's arms, t-shirt, jeans.

"There's a town about 15 miles up," Sam said. "We'll find a room, get you that shower, get some sleep before we head on to Montana."

Dean slumped against the door as Sam turned his attention back to the road.

"You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, Sam, we got the thing. Everything is right in the world. As right as it ever gets, anyway."

***

Dean felt thick-headed, wasted. He waited in the car while Sam got the room. The car wheels threw gravel as Sam pulled the car in at the end of the long motel building. Dean felt almost too heavy to get up and walk to the bed that was calling his name. The rain had followed them, though it was softer now. The drops glittered and seemed to spin with their own individual agendas as Dean walked to the motel room. He stepped into the room just as Sam turned on the light.

The light tugged at Dean, a soft shock, he could feel it. He was _awake, awake, awake_ in the light, like someone had fed the current of it straight through his body.

"Home sweet motel room," he said tossing his bag on the first bed. Sam set his backpack on the dresser and sat down at the little table to fill the details of the night into Dad's journal. The fight.

"That double cut action back there was awesome, Sam." Sam looked up with small smile more in his eyes than on his lips. "Like riding a bicycle, isn't it? The fighting? You never lose your training." Dean went on, his mouth feeling slightly disconnected from his brain. He rummaged in his bag, not really looking for anything. He would feel Sam's eyes tracking him. "We should spar, a little regular practice and you'll be able to do this all by yourself."

"I did do it all by myself, Dean. You were down."

"I got that thing right where you needed it, didn't I?" Dean let go of the bag. His skin was crawling, no under his skin. Humming, like adrenaline thrum. Sleep seemed very far away. "I'm gonna shower the rest of this crap off." Dean rubbed at the crusted blood on his arm.

Sam just nodded, kept writing.

***

The bathroom was bright, almost glowing. The blue floral wallpaper was so faded that the pattern seemed to twist and change shape in the bright light. Dean caught his reflection above the sink as he headed to the shower. Man, he had that demon shit in his hair.

One of the best things about getting to a hotel in the deep hours of the night was there was always plenty of hot water. Dean could feel the blood blooming to the surface of his skin under the boiling spray. He ran his hands over his chest trying to feel the difference between the heat of his skin and the water, but it was all blending together. He closed his eyes, focused on his pulse, felt it shift to the tempo of the water beating against him, felt the water try to become him, but he wouldn't let it in.

Dean was hard as he soaped himself. He ran the soap over his erection, unable to ignore it. His body felt primed, ready to fight or fuck. Setting aside the soap, hand on his cock, Dean thought of the pretty brunette waitress in the last place they'd eaten. He tried to focus on her, imagine how she'd sound pushed up against the alley wall behind the diner, or laid across the backseat of the Impala. But her face kept slipping, changing to something Dean could quite see. Until he could.

Sam?

Dean pushed the thought away, tried to picture her breasts, his mouth on them, but they wavered, altered, flexed into taut muscle even as the sound of her moans in his mind deepened, roughened.

When he came in his fist, his mind was full of Sam stretched beneath him, biting and licking across Dean's neck. Dean shuddered tried to shake it off. He turned off the water and stepped out, grabbing a towel and running it over his face before wiping off the mirror with it.

Sam's face stared back at him, a questioning expression, half disgusted. How did Sam know what Dean had been thinking? Could he fucking read minds now? Dean turned to see where Sam was standing behind him, but he was alone. The walls snaked and looped, pulling the wallpaper pattern inside them and pushing it back out upside down.

"What the fuck?"

The doorknob reached back for Dean when he went to pull it open. He grabbed it fast and jerked it open as the door folded in on itself. As he stumbled into the other room the light followed him, taunting, threatening to tell Sam what it had seen.

"Sam, something's wrong with me," Dean said as his legs gave out and he fell to the writhing carpet. Sam's shadow blocked the light and everything slowed way down.

***

"Dean!" Sam rushed across the room, leaned over his brother and pulled him up onto the nearest bed. "What's wrong?"

"Fine," Dean slurred, curling on his side on the bed, his hand closing around Sam's wrist, holding Sam in place over him. "Better now." His words were carefully measured, like a drunk trying to sound sober.

Better wasn't even alphabetically close to describing how Dean looked. Sam pried Dean's hand off his wrist and went to pull some sweats from Dean's bag and tossed them to Dean.

"Put these on." Because whatever was wrong, Sam didn't need to deal with it while Dean was naked.

Dean took the sweats from Sam and looked at them like he wasn't sure what they were going to do.

"Do you need help?" Sam asked, but Dean shook his head. Sam turned back and took his time grabbing dad's journal and the book they'd found the demon in.

When he came back, Dean was at least half dressed and just staring at his hands.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Sam sat heavily on the bed next to Dean, looking at his brother's hands to see if could see what Dean saw. Nothing unusual.

The cut on Dean's arm was red and open but it didn't look bad enough to need attention, not much more than maybe a couple Band-Aids to keep it clean.

"I feel kind of, uh, fucked up."

Dean's pupils were blown wide, hardly any color showing around the irises, even in the well-lit room. His cheeks were flushed, so maybe fever, or…Sam realized he didn't really know how to check if someone was high—aside from acting weird—and Dean was stupid, but not that stupid.

"What did you do, Dean?"

"What? Nothing, I just—everything started sort of spinning in the bathroom, not spinning, but like it _turned_ and then, I thought maybe you—" Dean trailed off and shook his head a little. "I don't know. Maybe it was something I ate?" Dean grinned, but his eyes were so weird that the smile looked half-mad.

"Yeah, I'm sure it was something you ate and not anything to do with the demon we just fought. You've been a little weird since we left the cemetery."

"I'm fine now. Tired." Dean scooted up the bed, leaning back against the headboard. "Hand me the remote."

Dean wasn't fine, but Sam knew better than to argue with him. Sam handed over the remote from the bedside table and settled on the bed next to Dean to finish writing up the night, hoping whatever it was was past.

Sam finished the write up and set the journal aside. Dean had left the TV on the first channel he came to with decent reception and was asleep again, slumping against Sam's shoulder. Which wasn't weird in itself, just in light of everything tonight. Sam opened the demon book and started to look for any powers the demon might have had, anything it could have done to Dean.

***

Dean felt the grass growing through the bedspread, ticking his lower back, growing up around his legs until the room was gone. Sam was still with him, sitting against a tombstone in a cemetery on high hill. Fires burned in the valley below, bright sparking dots.

"There's too many ghosts. We can't fight them all," Sam said.

"We'll do what we can."

"There's nothing we can do from here." Sam sounded annoyed, anxious.

"We have time." Dean turned to Sam, tried to reach for him, but Sam was gone. Dean stood alone on the hill, watching the fires wink and dance. He should go down there, figure out what they needed to do. He should find Sam.

The terrain changed around him as he walked, but he never seemed to get any closer to the fires and it was getting darker and darker.

 _You can't do it alone_ , a wrinkled, torn old voice whispered. But he _was_ alone, there was no one around to speak to him.

Dean opened his eyes. The one room house was sparsely furnished, bare floors, a stove crackling in the corner, a table, a bed. The room smelled like a hundred years of inhabitance long gone, becoming dust.

"You should sleep," Sam said from the bed. Dean walked toward the sound of his voice, suddenly aware of the deepening darkness. His shin hit the edge of the bed before he saw it.

"Sam?" Dean sat down, ran a hand over worn sheets. They were cold, no one was there. He looked around, light was shining through the cracks of the door, getting brighter. Dean went toward it.

It was spring outside, almost too warm. Dean sat in the grass next were Sam lay in the sunshine.

"Where were you?" Dean asked.

"Always too far away," Sam answered. "Come here."

Dean laid down, as close to Sam as he could. Sam's shirt was damp, chilled, rubbing against Dean's skin. The headboard of the bed put them in awkward position, but Dean shifted and wiggled until he was comfortable enough, leaning on Sam, his head on Sam's shoulder. The TV flickered and flared as some old movie played but Dean couldn't follow the story.

"The blood changes everything, you know?"

"What blood?" Dean asked.

"Our blood, but it isn't just ours anymore. Everything is going to be different now."

Dean started to answer but Sam was pushing him away, sitting up, leaving.

***

The Caacrinolaas was a demon of manslaughter and bloodshed, made people invisible, caused strife by creating love between foes and told futures and fates but Sam couldn't find anything about it causing sickness or emotional distress. Dean was pressed next him, burning feverish and Sam checked the small wound on his arm. It didn't look infected, festering, anything, just a little cut. There was nothing to account for the fever, the earlier weirdness, the way Dean had been mumbling, whimpering and shivering in his sleep.

Sam closed the book, left it on the side table tried to get comfortable. Dean was heavy against him, hot, sweating and generally burdensome. Sam tried to shove him over but the movement just made Dean snuggle in closer. Sam sighed and picked up the remote.

TV here in the middle of nowhere wasn't worth watching, not that TV usually was anyway. Sam knew he should get up, start searching the net—if he could even get online in place like this—or make some calls about whatever was going on with Dean, but he was tired. He'd start again in the morning.

The room was lit with only the frail bubble of light from the bedside lamp and the flickering TV. Sam lowered the volume and closed his eyes. He wanted sleep. He pushed Dean over a bit so he could get up. The side of his shirt was soaked through with Dean's sweat. Gross. Sam swung his leg down off the side of the bed.

"Don't leave me."

Sam turned, Dean's eyes were wide in the pale light.

"You should get some sleep, Dean. If your fever isn't broken by morning, we should probably find a doctor. You're burning up."

Dean reached for Sam, curving an arm around his waist.

"I'm not sick."

"You have a fever. If this is like the flu and not something supernatural, and we both get sick, we're fucked. We still need to go check out that poltergeist in Montana." Sam felt heavy, dull-witted and slow. What he really wanted was for Dean to sleep so he didn't have to worry about any of this right now.

"Stay with me, Sam." Dean was sleep-slurred but there was weird desperation in his words.

Resigned, Sam leaned back against the headboard, stretched his legs out. "For a minute, until you fall back asleep."

Dean's heat was oppressive as he pressed close to Sam. Sam listened to Dean's shallow breathing, waiting for it change tone to the sound of sleep.

The TV was playing on old black and white movie and Sam could barely hear it, but it seemed familiar. He'd probably seen it late at night in a hundred hotel rooms in childhood while his dad and Dean slept. The picture kept changing, the people folding in on themselves and returning in new shapes. Sam thought it was weirdest reception fuck up he'd ever seen. The dialogue was changing too and maybe getting louder, or maybe Sam was just getting used to it.

 _It's all foretold,_ the TV vixen said. Sam couldn't remember who she was. Veronica Lake? Ingrid Bergman?

 _It would have happened anyway, without our interference_ , the man in the black fedora replied.

 _It's better this way,_ she assured him before she folded away into something else, someone else.

Sam shook himself slightly, he was clearly too tired to deal with anything. What the hell was this movie about anyway? He closed his eyes and listened to see if he could tell if Dean was asleep yet.

"Your shirt feels weird. I don't like it," Dean said, his head on Sam's shoulder. He was not asleep.

"That's because you sweated all over it, dickwad."

Dean sat up and reached for the hem of Sam's shirt. "It feels gross, take it off." Dean tugged at the shirt.

"What the fuck? Why don't you just not lean on me and go to sleep?" But Dean was insistent and Sam let him pull the offending shirt off. When they lay back down, Dean pushed Sam down a little and lay with his head on Sam's shoulder, his arm around Sam's waist, closer than they'd been since they were just kids. "Dean, you're all sweaty and this is kind of weird."

Dean made a sound that might have been laughter and tucked his head up under Sam's chin. Sam awkwardly put his arm around Dean's shoulders and patted him a little.

"I just don't want to keep trying to find you, okay?" Dean asked in a voice so small, it seemed to come from someone else, someone much younger.

"It's just a fever, Dean. I'll be right here."

Dean didn't say anything else, and Sam tried to watch the movie over Dean's head, but he just couldn't pay attention. He was more worried than he even wanted to admit to himself. So many things could go wrong in their business. A high fever, influenza, was a best case scenario. Sam tried not to think about the worst possibilities. Possession. Mind-control. Some sort of mental incapacitation. Though with Dean it might be months before anyone actually noticed something like brain damage, Sam laughed to himself.

Sam turned to the light. It wasn't much but it seemed so warm, inviting. He stared for a while at the weave of the lampshade as it wiggled, undulating around the light, loving it. Dean's chest against his ribs and stomach was drenched with sweat and Sam imagined it conducted a current between them. He could feel Dean's pulse, right under his skin, fluttering and changing until it matched Sam's. The room seemed to beat with a single repeated thump of both their hearts. The last thing Sam wondered before his eyes closed, was if the people on TV knew that their heartbeats matched, if that was what they needed to solve their mystery.

***

The pulse at the base of Sam's throat tasted like electricity, salty almonds and familiarity as Dean licked over it. He turned his head to work his mouth over the unyielding curve of Sam's collarbone and saw shapes flashing past out of the corner of his eye. Tiny figures moving between the trees, just outside of the clearing they were in. Sunlight forced its way through, tiny shafts of it making their way to the forest floor.

"What is this place?" He asked Sam. But Sam just curved a hand around his skull and pulled him down, pressing their mouths together. It wasn't a chaste kiss, but weird, forced, awkward just like you'd expect tongue kissing your brother to be and Dean pulled back trying to see Sam. "What are you doing?"

"Isn't this what you want?"

"No."

"Me neither." But Sam's hands were pulling him down again, rolling them over until Sam was stretched over him, pressing Dean down into the scratchy blanket with the full weight of his body.

Sam's hips ground into Dean's and Dean could feel Sam's erection pressing against his. God, he was so hard, he thrust his hips up against Sam's and Sam moaned above him. Sam's hands were everywhere, slipping over his skin. Dean felt his body shift, need crawling under his skin. He reached for Sam, wanting him closer, wanting something he didn't want to name. Shame mixed with his arousal, but did nothing to dampen it.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Dean said as he closed his mouth over Sam's.

Sam didn't pull back and Dean felt like he was falling into the kiss. Sam's mouth was firm, his unshaven jaw scratched over Dean's. Dean slid his tongue into Sam's mouth, this time it felt like the most natural thing in the world, like _of course it came to this, there didn't need to be anything ever but the two of them_. Desperate for more contact Dean surged into the kiss making their teeth clash. Sam's jeans scraped roughly over Dean's stomach, the head of his cock, as Sam shoved Dean's sweats down. Dean tumbled them over, rolled them off the blanket onto the cool sheets of the small bed. Only the fire from the small stove lit the room as Dean kneeled over Sam and stripped the jeans off him.

"Dean," Sam said. It sounded like an invitation.

Dean tossed Sam's jeans on to the dusty floor of the small house. He could see it was night out side the small window, the moon was full, peeking between grey and lavender clouds. He looked back down at Sam below him as he lowered himself to taste Sam's skin again and again.

Sam's hands pulled him down, nails raked over him, making Dean shiver and whimper as he kissed and licked his way down the planes of Sam's torso. He let his hands lead the way until they found Sam's thighs and worked over the muscles there. Dean looked up when he reached Sam's cock. Sam watched him, pupils wide and shining.

"Tell me you want this. Tell me, Sam"

"Oh god, it's just—please—don’t stop." Sam's head fell back against the pillow and Dean took his brother's cock into his mouth under a bright moon, in small house in the middle of nowhere.

***

The sharp shock of Dean's teeth biting into his collarbone was the very edge of ecstasy. Sam felt so completely removed, as if somewhere far away he watched and knew this wasn't right, but he couldn't really remember ever feeling that way for sure. The only thing that mattered was the slide of Dean's tongue of over his skin, Dean's hands massaging the muscles of his thighs. Sam bucked up, cried out when Dean's mouth sucked down over his cock. He let his hips fly up trying to match Dean's rhythm. The thick grass of the cemetery tickled his back and the air was warm, even in the deepening dusk. Why they'd come back here after having driven so far Sam didn't know, it didn't matter, this was the perfect place. Pleasure ran down his spine, pooling at the base and spreading through his belly. Dean cupped a hand under Sam's ass, pulling him up a little.

His body had never felt this good. It was gold light ran under his skin carrying warmth and a steady glow of pleasure with it everywhere. Sam was so _aware_ , his heartbeat and Dean's threaded through everything in the night. The wet heat of Dean's mouth was so good, almost unbearably sexy. Sam thrust up again.

"Dean, fuck, yeah, I can't—"

Dean answered only by tightening his fist around the base of Sam's cock and sucking harder, drawing his tongue up Sam's length.

The starlight beat with their rhythm as Sam came, orgasm blooming out of him, giving itself back to the universe.

The blue-white light of the TV flickered over them as Dean crawled up Sam's body kissed him again. Sam reached between them, closing his fist around Dean's cock and stroking until Dean's hips rocked in a matching motion. He let his mouth trail over Dean's jaw, bit at the soft flesh of his earlobe, turned so he could feel the rush of Dean's breath against his cheek before bending his head to lick over the smooth muscles of Dean's neck.

"SamSamSamSam," Dean breathed, keeping steady time with his pulse.

Sam smoothed his free hand all over Dean's body, mapping every inch of skin he could reach as he thumbed over the head of Dean's cock, twisted his wrist and stroked harder.

Dean came over Sam's hand, his own stomach, the sheets and Sam pushed his fingers through the sticky mess, feeling the heat of Dean's body in it. The bed seemed to curl around them, holding them together as they drifted off. Sam knew he meant to turn the TV off, the lamp, the moon, everything was still so bright, but he was simply too tired, too lost to do anything about it.

***

Dean open his eyes onto the ugly wood wainscoting of the motel room. His mouth was dry and his head felt tight. He tried to shake it off, stretched but his hand hit a warm body next him. He rolled over. Sam. In an instant the dream came flooding back and he felt the stiff sheets, come dried over his cock and stomach. His stomach lurched. Oh _fuck_. Dean sat up, looking back at Sam who appeared to be sound asleep.

He couldn't piece together the night before but he knew what had happened, what they'd done. He scrubbed himself raw with the cheap floral hotel soap. The water of the shower couldn't wash the images out of Dean's head.

Sam was awake when Dean came back into the room.

"We, uh—" Sam waved his hand over the bed, his face stricken.

"I don't know," Dean lied. "Just get cleaned up and let's get the fuck out of here."

By the time Sam was ready, Dean had packed everything into the car, trying to clear his mind with the mental checklist of getting ready to move on.

"Let's get some food, get on the road," he said before Sam could ask anything more. Sam just nodded and followed Dean to the car.

They ate in silence. Sam appeared to be in shock. His face was pale, drawn. Dean could see the tension around the corners of his mouth. Dean forced food down, though his stomach was wound so tightly he wondered if he'd even be able to keep any of it down.

They followed the highway all the way up to I-90, heading out of South Dakota, west to Montana. The world passed by unseen, untainted by the grim feeling in the car. It was Sam who finally broke the silence.

"It must have been the demon."

"We killed the demon, Sam."

"You got its blood all over you, it must have done something."

"You didn't get it on you," Dean said unable to keep accusation out of his voice, though he didn't mean it for Sam. This was his fault, he'd let this happen. He was supposed to protect Sam.

Sam sighed. "Who knows what fucking demon blood does, Dean? Clearly it did something to us. What happened last night—"

"Don't." Dean bit the word off.

"Dean, we—"

"Just let me think, okay? We still have a job to do."

****

It was like the worst kind of nightmare, where you'd thought you woke up but then everything started to fall back into madness again and you realized you couldn't pull yourself out of it.

Sam stared out the window, watched the grasslands disappear past the car.

It had to be the demon blood. It must have gotten in Dean's cut, somehow transferred to Sam. But Sam couldn't even really remember. Dean had had a fever, Sam had watched some movie. The movie—something from the movie?—but Sam just couldn't remember anything but the feel of Dean's mouth on him, Dean's hands, unending need. His cock twitched a little and Sam cursed it silently. His body had betrayed him. Betrayed them both.

The sun hit the top of the sky, but even the greening spring outside felt bleak.

"This is fucked up, Dean."

"No shit, Sherlock. You figure that out all by yourself?"

"Whatever it was, we'll figure out what did this to us."

"And what, Sammy? We can't undo it."

Sam didn't answer. They couldn't undo it, but they'd have to figure out how to get past it.

It was still a good eight hours to the poltergeist in Ryegate, Montana. Sam busied himself with the map, with his journal notes on the poltergeist, but really all he could think about was how he held felt in the dream. Not just twisted wrongness of it, how fucked up it was now, but the actual physicality of it. His body was all ready to do it all over again, and Sam had to keep tamping down the visceral memories.

The landscape slowly changed, hills rising out of the flatlands as Sam turned the whole thing over and over in his head. Had he somehow caused this? Maybe the demon blood had acted on some impulse he'd been keeping buried all these years. He mentally tore through every psych class he'd taken in college looking for answers, for anything to explain it. After hours all he had was a car full of deafening silence, anger coming off Dean in waves and slow current of arousal running through him. Even if he hadn't wanted this whatever had caused it must still be coursing through his blood. Sam wanted to try and make Dean talk about this, but more and more all he really wanted was to just touch Dean. They had to figure this out sooner rather than later. Whatever it was, Sam knew it wasn't over.

****

Dean drove as if he could channel some Zen master and clear his head by becoming one with the road. It wasn't working at all. For one Sam was right there, thinking, worrying, _remembering_.

There weren't words for how wrong this was. The memories of Sam's hands on him kept trying to push in at the edges of Dean's thoughts even as he shoved them away by remembering, cataloging every gruesome horror he'd ever faced. For seconds Dean would find his mind clear and then his body would interrupt, end his self deceit, by surging with lust. He felt so unclean, infected, like something had just hijacked everything he knew and turned it upside down.

The worst part was no matter how much he tried to think about something else, he could still feel his blood singing under his skin. A glance at Sam was enough of a reminder of what his skin had tasted like. And if Dean hadn't enjoyed everything they'd done, then his body sure had a funny way of showing it. He kept thinking he'd found a moment clarity, emptied his mind and then the urge to reach over and put his hand on Sam would creep in and fill the emptiness. Whatever had caused this, the demon, something else, it had broken him. Dean wasn't sure if he'd be strong enough to keep fighting the compulsion to touch Sam. He just couldn't let go of the memory of how Sam had reacted under his hands, his mouth, how easy it would be to make Sam open up to him like that again.

The line of the mountains was almost visible as the sun lowered, almost touching their top edge. They hadn't stopped all day, not for coffee, food, anything but the occasional bathroom break. Dean wanted to drive forever, drive as far from what had happened as possible, but he knew he couldn't.

Montana was the best place Dean had ever driven. No speed limit during daylight, whatever was "prudent" for the conditions. As far as Dean was concerned right now "prudent" was pushing the limits of the Impala. It meant they'd made good time, it meant one step closer to something they could solve. It also meant soon they'd have to stop and stopping would surely mean talking if he knew Sam.

"It's the next right," Sam said.

Dean nodded. "Do we have everything we need to do this?"

"Yeah, if it's just poltergeist it should be fine."

****

It was just poltergeist and for once Sam thought it was too easy. The family that lived there had been staying with friends. Sam hoped they'd be happy enough to find their house peaceful that they wouldn't care about the holes in the walls. He hoped they'd be long gone before anyone had time to think about it.

Sam felt charged, volatile when they finally got a motel room. Dean had spoken since they'd pushed the spirit out of the house. Sam stood with his back against the door, his bag still in his hand, while Dean sat on the edge of one of the beds, unlacing his boots.

"Gonna shower," Dean said, standing up.

"Dean."

" _Sam._ " It was a warning, but Sam didn't care.

"We have to talk about this."

Dean turned around, his mouth set in a tight line. "There isn't anything say."

"Okay, what? We're just going to go on never talking to each other again? Battle the bad things in silence and just be completely fucking miserable?"

"What do you want me to do, Sam? To say? We can't come back from this. I don't have a contingency plan what happens after I accidentally fuck my brother. Do you? Is that something they taught you in college?" Dean spat the words out, color rising in his cheeks.

Sam felt his hands curl into my fists.

"I don't know what we're supposed to do, we just can't go on being angry uncomfortable and embarrassed forever."

"Well, when you figure it out, you let me know how I'm supposed to feel, okay?" Dean turned and headed for the shower, shutting Sam out.

Sam dropped is bag and lunged for Dean grabbing his shoulder. Dean flinched at the touch and span around, knocking Sam's hand off his shoulder.

Rage was building under Sam's skin and he could see it in Dean too, like everything they did was tied together now, synchronized. Cold calm crept over him and made his last attempt to make Dean understand.

"I just need you to help me, Dean. Work with me, find out about the demon. We need to make some calls and—"

"And what? _What?_ " Dean shouted. "And then this will all magically be better? Will that solve it for you, knowing what caused it? Cause it doesn't solve anything for me. It won't make me forget."

"I don't think either of us will be able to forget this."

"So what does your fucking research solve then, Sam?"

"I just want—"

"What? What do you want?"

Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I want to stop feeling like this. Like I'll die if I don't touch you." He looked back up at Dean, braving eye contact.

Dean's face crumpled.

"Jesus, Sammy. This is so fucked up."

"You feel it too, don't you?"

Dean just stood there, his face set, unreadable. Sam's stomach lurched. What if this was all him? Some sick horror that had always been in the back of his mind pulled to the front by some spell, some supernatural demon weirdness, driving a wider wedge between them. They'd never be able to overcome that.

"Dean?" Sam had to know, he would leave if it came to that. They'd both be better off.

Sam's breath caught as Dean stepped into his space grabbed his arms. Dean's fingers dug into Sam's muscle, painful, but still the connection Sam wanted.

"This is so fucked up," Dean said again through clenched teeth. "There isn't anything healthy or normal about this, Sam."

Sam nodded, his throat dry, stomach dropping again and then Dean's mouth was on his, furious, demanding, hot. Sam stumbled back but they never lost contact, even as the back of Sam's knees hit the bed and they both went down, Dean's weight almost knocking Sam's breath away as they fell onto the bed.

"Dean?" Sam gasped, trying to pull away.

"No." Dean kissed him more fiercely, silencing him. His hands shoved at Sam's shirt, tugged at his belt buckle. They fought their clothes off, yanking, tearing, struggling out of binding cotton as they rolled across the bed.

Dean's mouth felt like absolution, the key part of an equation Sam couldn't quite trouble out. Sam ran his hands over Dean's chest, feeling Dean's nipples pebble under the pad of his thumb. He scratched down Dean's back just to feel him shudder, feel the hum of Dean's whimper inside their kiss. It was good, too good. This was apocalypse, the end of the world as they knew it and it didn't matter. This moment was the most important and Sam could only hope they'd find their way out the other side of it and be able to live with whatever they had become.

****

Sam's hand was between them closing around both their cocks and pushing them together. It had none of the dream quality that Dean had expected, no haze of compulsion, magic, it was just them. Sam's hands felt so good, so fucking good. Dean reached for his mouth again, Sam tasted of almonds, history, milk, _home_ and it was enough, it was all there was now.

Dean ran his hands up Sam's thighs, over his ass, the taut muscles of his back, he let himself _feel_. Sam's breathing was ragged and Dean slipped a hand down around Sam's wrist, let it ride the tempo of Sam stroking them.

Dean was raw, nothing but sensation, orgasm rocked through him too fast, throbbing in time to Sam's pulse. His come was warm, slick over Sam's hand, his cock as Dean pushed Sam's hand away and closed his own over Sam's erection and pumped hard.

"Come on, Sam, let me see you, yeah, come on."

Sam open his eyes and looked between them where Dean's hand worked, before looking up and meeting Dean's eyes. Dean's heart clenched. There was no return from this. Everything was different now and maybe not better but Sam was his, really his and Dean couldn't have it any other way.

"Dean," Sam cried out as he came, tensing then falling limply against Dean. They hung there for a second, suspended in time, lost, and then they shifted, twisted, moved until they lay comfortably together. Their breathing slowed, but still filled the silent room.

"It's not any less fucked up now," Dean finally said.

Sam laughed and Dean felt lighter at the sound of it.

"It's pretty much never going to not be fucked up, unless you somehow stop being my brother and even then there'd still be the whole 'oh shit, I'm gay' thing that you'd probably be insufferable about."

" _I'd be insufferable?_ I'm not the one always trying to be normal." Dean dug his knuckles between Sam's ribs and Sam yelped trying to twist away but Dean held him.

"Asshole."

"Jerk."

"This is as normal as it's ever going to be again, isn't it?" Sam was smiling, but Dean could feel the anxiety under the words. Or maybe he was just projecting his own apprehension.

"It's not normal," Dean said finally. "It never will be."

"I'll learn to live with it." Sam pressed his lips against Dean's neck.

That was good enough. It had to be. Sam was all there was.

~finis~


End file.
